


and for the miracles

by witching



Series: a bottle of wine and a vessel of oil [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hanukkah, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Snowed In, Tenderness, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: and for the miracles, for the redemption, for the mighty deeds, for the saving acts, and for the wonders which You have wrought for our ancestors in those days, at this time...// v'al hanissim
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: a bottle of wine and a vessel of oil [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578094
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93
Collections: Good Omens is Jewish and so are we





	and for the miracles

It was dark when Crowley awoke but he could tell, even without looking out the window, that the sky was clear. It wasn’t moonlight or starlight that made the difference, but a tilt of the reflection from the snow on the ground, a colder, sharper look than the heavy, claustrophobic feeling of an overcast sky. 

Seeing the tenor of the air, Crowley released a sigh of relief and shifted, moving only infinitesimally before he became aware of Aziraphale. His chest pressed against Crowley’s back, arms wrapped around him in a hold so secure that, to the demon’s mind, it was reminiscent of a seatbelt. He laughed quietly to himself at the comparison; he had never worn a seatbelt, so it was strange for it to even occur to him.

“Something funny?” 

Aziraphale’s lips brushed against Crowley’s neck as he spoke, warm air ghosting across his skin, and the demon felt a short, sharp pang of embarrassment at the way it made his heart pound. He was sure Aziraphale could feel it, close as he was. It was possible that he imagined it, but he thought that he felt the angel smile against his skin. 

“Nothin’,” he mumbled with a minute shake of his head. “You ever feel like… like you’re being protected from something you never even knew to be afraid of?”

The angel was still and quiet in a specific manner that Crowley recognized as the thoughtful pause of Aziraphale trying to think of a polite way to say that he had absolutely no idea what Crowley was talking about. Smiling softly to himself, the demon chose to save him the trouble.

“That’s not quite it,” Crowley began to explain. “It’s more like – hm. Like if it was raining, or – or  _ snowing  _ your whole life and you never noticed the snow until one day, there’s an umbrella over your head, and someone else is holding it.” 

He turned his head and looked sideways at the angel, whose brow was furrowed in concentration, as if trying very hard to follow what he was saying. Crowley felt a renewed flood of fondness in his chest, rising in his throat, and he rushed to finish his illustration of the feeling. 

“And you just think…  _ Oh. _ Because suddenly you know what it’s like to – not only to have shelter, but to know that someone cares enough to do that  _ for  _ you, which is a whole different kind of warmth.”

Aziraphale said nothing for another long moment, but it was far from the confused silence of before. He was definitely smiling now. “I think I’m somewhat familiar with the feeling,” he murmured gently, punctuating the statement with a soft kiss to the side of the demon’s neck.

Crowley gave a pleased hum and rolled over in the angel’s arms, turning until they were nose-to-nose and chest-to-chest. He lifted a hand to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek and kissed him once on the lips, tender and deep. 

“It’s not snowing anymore,” he whispered without opening his eyes as he pulled away. “Not out there and not in here.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed almost inaudibly. “You’re soft. How embarrassing for you.”

With a playful growl, Crowley shoved the angel’s shoulder and swung a leg over him, pinning him by the shoulders with both hands, straddling his waist. His teasing power play was slightly undermined by the way Aziraphale looked up at him, an adoring grin spread easily on his face, as if the demon were a cartoon puppy playing at ferocity.

“I’ll show you soft,” Crowley replied, grinding his hips down to make his point clear.

“Will you, now?” Aziraphale spoke breezily, obviously more amused and endeared by the demon’s display than anything else, but more than willing to play along. “Go on, darling, show me.”

And Crowley did, his game fading into nothing but loving tenderness before he managed to get the angel’s pants off. He threw everything he had into showing Aziraphale exactly how he felt, with his hands and his mouth and then some. When he had the angel right where he wanted him, tired out and satisfied, curls clinging to his sweaty forehead and hardly-visible bruises blooming on his skin, Crowley kissed him quite fiercely for a while longer.

“C’n I tell you something?” the demon slurred quietly, collapsing on top of his angel with a sigh. He didn’t wait for a proper answer, only took the deep hum rumbling in his chest as an affirmative and dove into his confession before he could talk himself out of it. “I prayed to us.”

He heard Aziraphale’s heartbeat stutter and his breath catch, and instantly Crowley’s own chest squeezed in fear. “I just mean – not  _ prayed, _ per se,” he rushed to clarify. “Just… who better to thank for sustaining us, enabling us to reach this occasion?  _ She  _ didn’t do that. We did that.”

Aziraphale reached up, took Crowley’s chin between his finger and his thumb, tilted his face up until he could meet the demon’s eyes. “You’re right,” he murmured, fervent and wondering. “You’re right. We did that.”

Crowley’s cheeks heated up and he glanced off to the side. “I thought – I thought you’d be angry with me,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Sss’blasphemy, yeah?”

“Not at all, my love,” the angel soothed. “Only truth. I’d never expect you to pray to Her. I’d never ask you to lie to yourself, or to me, in that way.”

Speechless due to a combination of surprise and affection, Crowley simply blinked at him for a moment. “Thank you, angel.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said gently, placing a kiss on the demon’s forehead.

Crowley closed his eyes and nuzzled into the angel’s warmth, practically purring. They lay together in comfortable quiet for several minutes, limbs entangled and breaths synced, before the demon endeavored to speak again.

“With the snow over,” he whispered tentatively, “and the holiday over… are you… are you going to leave?”

“Well,” the angel began in a tone carefully affected to avoid exacerbating Crowley’s rising anxiety. “Surely, I don’t plan to stay forever,” he said slowly, “but I don’t expect you’d want to stay holed up here, with or without me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, darling, just… well, yes. I plan on leaving your flat at some point,” Aziraphale said, finally speaking plainly. “But I don’t plan on ever leaving you. Not in any way that matters.”

Thinking on the answer, Crowley hesitated, frowned deeply, drummed his fingers on the angel’s skin for a few seconds before arriving at a conclusion. “Alright,” he replied, relaxing his tense muscles. “That works for me.”

Aziraphale smiled in relief. “Now, how much longer do you think we can stay in bed?”

“Is that a challenge?” Crowley asked conspiratorially, a wolfish grin on his lips. 

“Are you going to rise to it?” countered the angel with a raised eyebrow.

Crowley laughed, leaned in close to Aziraphale’s ear. “I’m rising to something,” he whispered hotly. The comment drew a similar laugh from the angel, a deep laugh which Crowley rapidly smothered with kisses.


End file.
